Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CARI
“Fuck!” Max yells, and I yawn as I open my eyes. They feel heavy, like I haven’t gotten enough sleep. I sit up in the bed as Max is pacing around the room.
I become aware of how naked I still am under these sheets.
“Max? What’s going on?” What time is it? I can’t see any sunlight coming in from outside her window.
“We fell asleep,” Max says angrily.
“Okay? What time is it? Did we miss an alarm or something?” I can’t understand the urgency of Max getting out of bed.
“No. I don’t know, it’s like six a.m. or something.” She waves her arms in the air. “I didn’t plan for a sleepover. You know we don’t do that.”
Oh. So that’s what this is about. I sigh and look at Max, who’s avoiding eye contact. When she fell asleep in my arms, I was surprised, as I hadn’t planned on spending the night. The plan was to wait a bit and see if she woke up.
She used to take naps like that every once in a while, so I hadn’t thought much of it. But I was so spent from the orgasm that I fell asleep too before I could go.
“I know we didn’t plan it, but is it that big of a deal?” I ask.
Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to ask because she looks at me angrily. Well, not angry but more annoyed. Her nostrils flare and she raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t want this to be more complicated than it should be. Sleepovers and hanging out without hooking up are the path to complications,” she explains.
“Alright. It wasn’t like I planned this; I fell asleep because the sex was good and I had a long day. But you fell asleep too,” I grumble.
Rising to my feet, I carry the sheet around my waist as I pick up my clothes from all over the room.
I feel self-conscious for the first time in front of Max.
It doesn’t help that she won’t look at me without sighing.
I grab my bra and look around for my panties when I see the scrap of fabric from where she ripped them.
Great, I’ll have to ride the train without panties.
I guess I’ll be standing all the way home, no way I’m risking an infection for letting my coochie accidentally touch the seats on the New York City subway.
I could put my tights back on, but they are so thin they won’t do anything anyway.
I buckle my bra and slide my dress on, turning my back to Max as I button it all the way.
We’ve argued about things before; that isn’t uncommon. But she’s never made me feel like this. It’s like she woke up and realized she was in bed with her worst enemy or something. It’s a shell shocking and terrible way to wake up.
“I’m not trying to make this a thing.” Max sighs as she sees me gathering my things.
“But you did. You made this a thing.” I glare at her. Why the hell does she have to look so cute in the morning? Her dark hair is tousled, pointing in different directions, and she has sleep lines on her cheek from lying on her hand.
“Come on, you don’t understand where I’m coming from?” Max reaches for my arm and I don’t pull away.
“I understand you’re nervous to make this anything more than it is. But I assure you one sleepover wouldn’t do that for me.” I shrug,
Max drops her hand and I open the bedroom door to grab my shoes from the hallway.
“Do you want me to call you an Uber?” she asks.
I should probably say yes since it’s before seven a.m. on a Saturday morning in Bushwick, but I shake my head. “No thanks.” I don’t want anything from her right now.
She just nods, and I leave without slamming the front door, even though I really want to.
But that wouldn’t be fair to her roommates; they aren’t the ones acting ridiculous.
I grab my phone, and at least the battery is still at 50%.
I hadn’t used it much last night, so I have enough to get myself home.
I take the M train back to the city, making sure not to sit on any seats even though, of course, there are plenty.
The one time you don’t need a seat, and almost every subway car is empty.
When I get back to my neighborhood there’s an older man who seems to be playing with himself so I decide to walk the last few blocks. I’m not in the mood to pull out my pepper spray and it’s a bitch and a half to get a new one. I don’t know why it’s illegal in New York of all places.
I’m one of the few people on the streets this early. It’s mostly mothers with young kids and runners getting in their exercise. Which is why I’m surprised when my phone rings until I glance at the name.
“Amy?” My older sister doesn’t usually call this early.
“Hey! What are you doing up so early?” she asks surprised, my nieces and nephews are in the background—her reason for being up so early.
“Just going for a walk, couldn’t sleep,” I lie. I love my sister, but hooking up with people isn’t something we discuss.
“Ah, I saw you moving on the map and thought I’d say good morning. The kids are wondering when we’ll see you again?” She sips what I assume is a smoothie. My sister is a bit of a health nut and she rarely has coffee.
“I’m not sure. I’ve been pretty busy with work, but I’ll be around for the holidays,” I grit through my teeth.
I hate that once people have kids instead of saying ‘I want to see you’ they change it to ‘my child wants to see you’.
All my sisters with kids did it, which is three out of five of them, soon to be four I’m sure.
My sister, Janet, married last, so any moment now we’ll be seeing a pregnancy announcement.
“Hmm, okay, you could always do your job from here, though. It’s just taking photos, isn’t it?”
Amy says job in the same way you’d compliment a toddler on a page of scribbles they’re proud of. It is a point of contention with my family and I.
“No, it’s not. Part of what I do is making content like taking photos, but I also do ads, modeling, podcasts, and branded deals,” I say, trying to hold back my anger. This clearly just isn’t my morning.
“I see,” she says, even though I can tell she doesn’t.
I am the youngest of my sisters and, in a way, always the black sheep of the family. I never did the same things they did; settle down young, get married, move to the suburbs and have a family.
“Well, either way, the family misses seeing you. I’m sure Mom would like to see you too.”
“I saw Mom last month, we had brunch in the city,” I say.
My mom is the only one in the family who actually makes an effort to come and see me.
“You know it’s easier for you to come to us; I can’t exactly hop on the train with five kids in tow,” she grumbles.
I don’t say what I’m thinking because I love my nieces and nephews.
“I know, I’m just saying I just saw Mom. And Thanksgiving is next month, I’ll see everyone then. Should I bring anything?” I ask for good measure.
“Nope! Janet’s hosting this year, and I’m on desserts. Just make sure you arrange with one of us where you’re sleeping so we’re not caught off guard like last year,” she adds sassily.
“Sure.” I grit my teeth again. I’d thought I was sleeping at her house like I had every other year, but suddenly her husband’s sister was in town, and my guest bed was taken, so I had to take the couch at Janet’s house, who was not happy as a newlywed.
And trust me with what I heard, I wasn’t happy either.
“Hold on,” Amy says. “Do NOT, I mean it! You better stop it right—Cari I’m sorry I need to go.”
Before I can even say a goodbye she’s gone, and I’m slipping my phone back into my purse.
That’s how most of the phone calls with my sisters go.
It isn’t worth trying to get a word in edgewise or talk about myself.
They don’t take what I do for a living seriously even though I can afford an apartment in Midtown without working a normal 9-5.
Sighing, I buzz myself into my building, head for the elevator, and go right to my apartment. It’s too early for Hazel to be awake, so I creep in quietly and head right for the shower.
I want to wash last night off me. I feel worse than the time I hooked up with a stranger and her wife came home in the middle of her going down on me.
I was literally thrown out of their apartment with my clothes tossed out the window.
Thankfully it was dark and I was able to get dressed before someone called the cops.
Somehow, Max has made me feel worse than that; in the depths of my mind I know this has more to do with her than me, but it still hurts. I knew she had commitment issues and struggled with the concept of anything related to relationships. But I also wish I knew why.
She never wants to talk about it and anytime I’ve brought it up in the past she quickly changed the subject. I’ve tried asking Aspen about it when we were roommates, but she insisted it wasn’t her story to tell.
I toss my clothes in the hamper and climb into the shower. I let the scalding water run all over my body as I try to ignore my aching all over. Instead of thinking back on how good she made me feel last night, I’m hoping she hasn’t left any hickies this time.
My hands wash over my body, and I realize Max hadn’t said anything about my new tattoo.
Did she even notice it? I had taken the wrapping off, and it wasn’t like it was healed; it’s only just starting to flake.
It isn’t a small tattoo either, taking up a good part of the back of my arm. How did she not see it?
I think about my last conversation with my therapist about Max, who’s often a common topic I discuss. My therapist isn’t the kind to give any indication of what she’s thinking, which is annoying as hell. But she’s helpful, except for when she won’t tell me what I should do about Max.
It isn’t a secret to Shirley—my fifty-year-old therapist who sips hot tea and takes short notes during our sessions—that I have feelings for Max.
She knows about our ups and downs and often asks me to dig deeper when we have disagreements.
But she doesn’t know how lately I feel like Max’s secret booty call instead of a friend.
It’s hard to say things out loud sometimes, let alone admit them to myself.
I sort of thought that if I ignored it, Max and I could go back to how we used to be.
More the friends part of friends with benefits.
Even if we weren’t in a relationship, it’s better than what we have going on now.
But it’s clear Max is going to keep pushing me away.
I guess I’ll have to keep pushing back; it isn’t like my feelings are going anywhere.
Over time, she has to see that we could go back to how things were, or maybe even be together.
I just need to know why she is so against relationships.
Maybe pushing that out of her would be the way to go. Then at least I could be working toward something for us. After all, it isn’t like the feelings I have are one-sided. I know she has them too; she just needs to find them again.